


Things Happen

by EvasiveWarrior (Emilightning)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Remus is also a mess, Self-Harm, it's just constant existential crisis for these two, non-permanent death, this is kind of a mess, yeah I don't really know what this is sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilightning/pseuds/EvasiveWarrior
Summary: Nothing can hurt him. He's just a figment, after all, a concept.
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Things Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of a vent piece? I wrote this on my phone at one in the morning last week, so enjoy.  
> And please do read the tags beforehand. There are many more wholesome and cute dukeceit fics for you to read out there. Unfortunately, this is not one of them.

"I love you," he said, biting his lip clean almost through. Then he laughed; his face crinkled with expression, but the blood running down his chin made it sound hollow. "Isn't that disgusting? Out of all the things I could do, the things _we_ could do... imagine having the absolute balls to love someone. On our own."

Janus remained still and regarded him with somber but gentle eyes. "How do you mean?" He lay stretched out on the floor, without his gloves or his hat or shoes. He wanted Remus to see him trying to return the impossible, forbidden feelings by showing just a hint of vulnerability.

The duke conjured a cigarette and lit it. Purely for dramatic effect, of course. Another meaningless rebellion against the vessel. He took a drag, savoring the ashy burn in the back of his throat before answering. "I mean, we don't even exist in the literal sense. You're not even _you_. I'm not me. There is no me, and there is no us."

His words hung in the air with every exhale. They tasted of smoke dirt and hot metal. In this position-- on his back, breathing this toxic air-- Janus could almost imagine how it would feel to be lightheaded. He nodded automatically as Remus rambled on.

"But you love me anyway. Right? One imaginary entity exchanging feelings with another, without consent from anyone on the outside." He pushed the end of the lit cigarette into the back of his hand, searing the skin that wasn't real. It hurt. It felt good.

"Don't do that," Janus muttered without much conviction. He was tired. How many times had they been through this? 

Remus, of course, ignored him. "Could really fuck somebody up when you think about it. We're probably doing more harm than good just by sitting here. Talking to each other, just you and me..."

Janus rubbed a hand across his eyes. He was exhausted; he couldn't remember when the conversation had started or what he was supposed to be doing. "What's your point?" he asked finally. He knew the answer.

The other simply shrugged. The way he moved was grotesque in a way; unnatural and often contorted but hypnotizing nonetheless. His shoulder blades jutted out when he leaned forward, streching his long legs out in front of him. His hands, spindly but unquestionably strong, beckoned the snakelike man toward him. Janus obeyed.

The haze of the mostly empty mindscape began to settle into an easy darkness. Janus made his way over to sit just inches from Remus, resting his forehead against the duke's for a moment. He felt the metallic taste in the air disperse. Everything was still. Quiet. He liked him like this, but he knew it wouldn't last.

"No point. That's what's great about it, Dee," Remus murmured at last. "There's no rules here because we don't exist. And how many times have you watched me rip myself into bloody pieces just to prove it?"

Too many times. Each and every one of them could die a dozen gruesome deaths a day and be whole again by nightfall. And he had before, to be sure. Not as often as Remus, of course. Fucking Remus, never needing a reason to destroy himself. Somehow both acutely aware and completely oblivious to the fact that despite them being imaginary, the love they all felt was more than real. So real that it would leak out and spill over if they weren't careful. And where there was love, there was pain.

Not for Remus, though. Not for the man who insisted over and over that because none of them were real, there was no love and no loss. But god, did Janus love him.

Maybe tonight would be a good time to die, he thought. Not much better to do. He absentmindedly stroked the duke's dark hair with one hand. With the other, he summoned a long-handled knife and set it on the floor beside them.

The scene in the mindscape was slowly turning into a dark gray, desolate space. Eventually it took the form of an abandoned parking lot, devoid of all life. No lights shone except for the half-moon that barely peered through the clouds. It bounced off the unnervingly clean and sharp blade.

It was cold. Bone-chillingly so.

Janus removed his caplet and allowed the wind to carry it away. His neck and shoulders felt bare. He breathed in the bitter cold and exhaled with a violent shudder.

Remus giggled with neither malice nor mirth, staring at the half-reptilian with a gaze of strange yet undeniable adoration. "Oh, is that the game we're playing? Just letting ourself have a little masochism tonight, as a treat?"

His breath was visible with a mixture of cold and cigarette smoke-- when he'd summoned another, Janus didn't know. He watched without a word while the grinning man methodically stubbed out one burning end after another in the palms of his hands.

At last, after he'd exhausted his adrenaline high (or whatever the equivalent might have been; was _he_ the very embodiment of an adrenaline high himself?) he took his blistered hands and caressed the human half of Janus' face. "There, I've warmed them up for you," he said with a smile.

Everything was wrong. Everything was right. They shouldn't have been able to experience these feelings or thoughts on their own, _for_ their own. Not as a part of a whole, but as two separate entities.

"None of this is real," Remus reassured Janus as he drew the knife and slashed two long slits into his own left wrist. Hot blood flowed, first red then inky black. He handed Janus the knife, trembling uncontrollably and cackling. "Look how it runs, curving just like a snake! We're poison, Dee-- our blood, our hearts, our words."

Venomous, Janus thought. He meant venom, not poison. Fucking Remus. The knife's wet handle warmed his hands.

"You bleed too much," he informed the duke, licking the blood from his fingertips. "Always so messy. You're lucky I'm willing to clean up after you." 

Remus laughed again. He leaned unsteadily into Janus's waiting arms, eyes half-lidded. "Because you're stupid enough to looooove me," he slurred. "Your stupid heart. I don't have a heart." 

Blood was spilling into Janus's lap in rivers. "The gallons' worth of exsanguination I've watched you go through would beg to differ," he said, knowing Remus probably wouldn't process the irony at this point.

"Mmmm... yep," was all the bleeding man managed to murmur before slumping forward. The flow of blood slowed, then stopped. The sudden dead weight of his body didn't faze Janus in the least; the two vertical crevasses in his arm were already sealing themselves into a barely noticeable scar. They really did kind of look like a snake, winding down his skin.

He was getting far too used to this shit. Who cared?

Janus pressed Remus's hand to his lips. "You're a fucking prick, you know that? And I love you. I really do." ( _Why could he never say it so honestly when they were both conscious and coherent?_ )

This was the always worst part. These moments, the few agonizing minutes when Remus simply wouldn't _be_ there anymore, left a void so potent that it took his breath away. Was that love, or was it loss? It made no sense. Maybe it was a good thing he didn't exist after all.

 _Our hearts are poison_. If that was so, at least it would prove he had one.

Janus fiddled with the knife. He glided the blade over his shirt, under his skin, piercing beneath the ribcage and layers of protection that did nothing in the end to stop the screaming pain coming from what he could only assume was his heart.

 _You'll see him tomorrow_ , he repeated to himself silently. _He always comes back, and so do you. And it doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt._

His blood really was cold, too. It felt like ice against his skin.

Everything was so cold.


End file.
